


All Along the Watchtower

by Elizabeth Tudor (Liz_Tudor)



Category: Lupin III
Genre: And get their friends out of jail, And he's terrified they won't come out of it in one piece, Angst, Badass Jigen, Competent Zenigata, Dude didn't survive this long chasing Lupin by accident, Friendship, Gen, Group loyalty, In a stark departure from the norm, Jigen breaks into jail, Jigen kicking wholesale ass, Jigen whump, Jigen without cigarettes is grumpy, Legally this time, Police corruption, Protecting Zenigata, The bad side of politics, The gang just can't have that, Two of Lupin's favorite people are in prison, Well legally-ish, While Lupin and Goemon try to reverse the charges, Zenigata is sent to prison on false charges, Zenigata whump, prison fights, protecting each other, some violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-15
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-07-12 17:12:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15999695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liz_Tudor/pseuds/Elizabeth%20Tudor
Summary: Zenigata catches Lupin and his gang, loses Lupin and his gang, and solves some other case that they turned up instead. That's how it's always gone, and Lupin is content to have it stay that way forever, pulling heists with all of his favorite people around him.But when Zenigata is charged with corruption and sent to prison, the only way they can hope to protect him is by sending someone in after him. With the gang scattered and the shadowy conspiracy that put him in prison tightening the noose, Lupin, Jigen, Goemon, and Fujiko will have to decide just how much they're willing to risk to help their longtime rival.





	1. Chapter 1

"No reason to get excited,"  
The thief he kindly spoke.  
"There are many here among us  
Who feel that life is but a joke.  
But you and I, we've been through that  
And this is not our fate.  
So let us stop talking falsely now,  
The hour's getting late."

~All Along the Watchtower, Jimi Hendrix

~*~

 

*********************************************************************************************************************************************

 

It was probably a bit gratuitous, Lupin though happily, going on vacation right after they'd left a tropical island. But in their defense, the island had been in the middle of a bloody revolution, and they'd had a tense two weeks before Fujiko's contact had come through and they'd managed to escape. The break was merited, and all of them needed it. Even Goemon was spending equal amounts of time swimming and meditating, and Jigen was down to just skimming the paper instead of reading it cover to cover.

 

Although sometimes that was enough, he reflected as the gunman read something that made him choke on the bite of toast he'd just stuck in his mouth.

 

"What's up?" Lupin demanded, pounding him on the back. "Another wedding announcement for Fujiko? We saw her less than a week ago, that's acting fast even for her..."

 

Jigen shook his head, still coughing, and jabbed a finger at an article on page six.

 

"What is it?" Lupin asked again, taking the sheet of newsprint. Had to be something big, to make Jigen freak out like that. "What's g..."

 

He froze, absorbing the headline, and all the color drained from his face.

 

"Yeah," Jigen rasped, taking a sip of coffee to clear the last of the toast crumbs out of his throat. " _That_."

 

"Are you sure this isn't a prop newspaper?" his partner asked desperately, checking the byline. "This _has_ to be a joke..."

 

"It's not."

 

"But..."

 

Jigen shook his head, and both of them stared in silent horror at the black and white photo of a stunned-looking Zenigata, topped by the headline, **Interpol Officer Sentenced to 8 Years for Corruption.**

 

*****************************

 

Twenty minutes of frantic googling turned up the rest of the details. Apparently a couple of Interpol bureaucrats had been making noise for years about how Zenigata had to be taking bribes from Lupin, to be working the case for so long without catching him, and to be walking out of so many dangerous situations largely unscathed. In the face of his sterling record on every case _except_ Lupin's though, they'd never made much headway. Pops was just too squeaky-clean. But he'd been trapped in the coup on that island too, had found the thief and his team right as the soldiers did, and he and the rest of the unit had gotten caught in the crossfire. Only a handful of officers had made it off the island. He wasn't one of them, had been given up for dead, until six weeks ago when he'd been spotted in Florida in company with the notorious gang of thieves. In the face of this new evidence, his superiors had had no choice but to charge him with conspiracy, corruption, and accepting bribes. Only the last one hadn't stuck; his financial records were in absolutely perfect order. _Because of course they were,_ Lupin thought, frustrated. Zenigata was simply too well-known in France, so he was being imprisioned in Italy. Given his connections to the Lupin gang, who were notorious for walking out of prisons as soon as they arrived, he'd been sentenced to eight years in maximum security. He'd be eligible for parole in four.  _No way in hell he'll survive that long, and those bastards know it._

 

That was what the papers knew about. What they didn't know was the fear and panic of what had happened in that fucking jungle. There'd been thirty officers and two hundred soldiers, scattered across both sides of the coup. It'd been a massacre, the thieves huddled in a hollow just outside the clearing, unable to see who was shooting who, unable to risk moving until the bullets stopped. They'd managed to grab two others besides Zenigata, but one, a middle-aged woman, had died of her wounds before she ever woke up again, and the other, a rookie, had panicked and run into the jungle, and had been shot by the soldiers almost immediately. By the time they'd been able to make it back to the clearing, any officers who were still alive had either fled or been captured. So they'd patched Pops and themselves up as best they could, and spent two anxious weeks waiting to escape, dropping Zenigata off back on the mainland and booking it to an airport.

 

"This is extremely dishonorable," Goemon frowned. "We may be thieves, but that doesn't mean that we ought to have simply left him and the other officers to die if we might have prevented it. Being on the opposite sides of the law does not have to mean being on the opposite sides of what is right."

 

"Have any of them even met him?" Jigen demanded, gripping his forehead. "You only have to talk to the guy for five seconds to realize what a fanatic he is about justice, he's the only cop in Interpol who _isn't_ corrupt! This is fucking stupid."

 

"This is absurd," Goemon agreed.

 

"This is our fault," Lupin moaned, hands fisting in his hair. " _My_ fault. We pulled him off that island, we weren't careful enough..."

 

"Well what were we supposed to do?" Jigen asked impatiently. "Leave him there? You saw what they did to the cops they caught!" It hadn't been pretty.

 

"I mean, we didn't have to drop him off in the middle of Miami, waving goodbye," Lupin groaned miserably. "We could've faked an escape or something, or pretended to demand a ransom..."

 

"Listen," Jigen growled, "this has clearly been in the works for a while. A month and a half is a ridiculously short time to go from arrested to trial and sentencing, they had to have had this set up and ready to go, had the evidence already faked or collected. Being seen with us was the match that touched it off, but someone's been planning this. This isn't happening because they want him dead. Well, not _just_ dead, anyway," he amended. "Cops die on duty all the time, if they wanted him dead, why didn't they just hire a thug to shoot him? This is happening because someone wants him dead and discredited."

 

"You know, I think you're right," Lupin agreed, making an effort to pull himself together. "That would explain why he's being sent to max security for a simple corruption charge too, they want him locked in with as many violent inmates as possible. So we need to figure out who he pissed off, or what he was getting close to that someone didn't want him investigating. God, and we need to figure out what to do about the fact that Pops is in freaking prison. That's just wrong, completely against the natural order of the world."

 

"It is...deeply disturbing," Goemon agreed. "He's being held for trial, yes? Now that he's sentenced, when will he be transferred from holding to prison?"

 

"Probably within a day or two," Lupin sighed. "Too soon to do anything about it, when we're on the other side of the world. We'll have a little extra time when he actually gets to prison though, it'll be two weeks to thirty days before they finish processing him and move him into general population," Lupin mused. "He'll be safe until then, and dead meat after, so we have to have our plan set and ready by the time they move him. That doesn't give us much to work with."

 

"We'll break him out before then, of course," Jigen scoffed. "Can't leave him there, they'd rip him apart." He caught the look Lupin was giving him, that anxious, squirrelly, 'I decided on something that you're _really_ not going to like and I'm trying to think of the best way to put it' look. " _What?"_

 

His boss couldn't seriously be suggesting they actually leave Zenigata in prison, could he? The guy was technically their adversary, sure, but how damn often had he pulled them out of the line of fire? That was just cold, especially when it would be such an easy job. 

 

Then the shoe dropped, with the force of a cinderblock to the head. Lupin wasn't trying to back out of a simple job. He was hesitating to propose a very difficult and very dangerous job.

 

They...they couldn't get him out. For one thing, hanging around with them was what had gotten Zenigata in trouble in the first place, it'd confirm everyone's worst opinions, if the Lupin gang busted out an officer accused of corruption. For another...it was Pops. He genuinely believed in the system he fought to uphold, would never allow them to break him out even if it could somehow be done with no one the wiser. He'd been tried and sentenced, and he'd bear it out even if it killed him. And it _would_ kill him, in a matter of days only. Terrible things happened to cops who wound up behind bars, much less an officer as high profile as Zenigata. Putting him in with the general population was a death sentence.

 

Since they couldn't get him out of prison, they'd have to send someone in, to protect him as best they could.

 

It couldn't be Goemon. He'd volunteer, of course, their occasional ally was unjustly imprisoned and his honor would demand no less, but he couldn't speak Italian, and he insisted on living in the Edo period. He'd stick out like a broken arm.

 

It was a men's prison. Fujiko couldn't, and also she wouldn't. She didn't have anything against Zenigata, but nor did she harbor the same exasperated affection for him that the rest of the gang did. She wouldn't risk her life and her safety to act as his bodyguard, even if she could.

 

This campaign would need Lupin on the outside, silver-tongued bastard that he was, to persuade Interpol that they'd made a mistake, pull the strings and sway public opinion and act as ringmaster of the circus that this would inevitably become.

 

That left...

 

"FUUUUUCK," Jigen groaned, dropping his head into his hands. He saw Lupin open his mouth, expression pleading, and he just didn't want to hear it, didn't even want to _think_ about just how much this was going to suck.

 

"While I'm in there, you'd better be hauling ass to figure out a fix for this," Jigen warned. "I give it about two months before I snap and stab someone. And when this shitshow is over, there had better be a damn good bottle of scotch waiting for me outside."

 

Lupin's expression of pathetic gratitude did not make him feel the slightest bit better about this.

 

*****************************************************************************************************************************************************

 **Sir Thomas Moore:**  Have I your word that what we say here is between us two?

 **The Duke of Norfolk:** Very well.

 **Sir Thomas Moore:**  And if the King should command you to repeat what I may say?

 **The Duke of Norfolk:**  I should keep my word to you.

 **Sir Thomas Moore:**  Then what has become of your oath of obedience to the King?

 **The Duke of Norfolk:** You lay traps for me!

 **Sir Thomas Moore:**  No, I show you the times.

~A Man For All Seasons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This...was not what I set out to write. I started writing a nice heist fic with Lupin and Jigen and Fujiko, and I shouldn't have been writing that either, I should've been working on my research conference presentation. Especially after swearing up and down that I didn't have time to do a multi-chapter fic. But then the thought occurred to me, and it refused to stay unwritten, so here we are. There are at least half a dozen stories on here about, 'Lupin gets into trouble and Zenigata has to bail him out,' including one I wrote. It's a fun trope. But then I started wondering what would happen if Zenigata was in trouble, serious trouble, and Lupin and the gang had to help him instead. And thus we have this. Someday I'll post something that features more than just Jigen and Zenigata...


	2. Chapter 2

End of the second day in the main prison, start of the third night. Fifty-one hours. Zenigata stood outside the cell for the evening count, waited for the guards' all-clear, then ducked inside as the barred steel door slammed shut behind him, locking them in for the night.

 

As usual, his cellmate, Conte, turned to face the wall when he came in and did his damndest to pretend that Zenigata didn't exist. He didn't try to press a conversation this time, just changed his shirt for a clean one, made sure his lip had stopped bleeding, washed his face, and laid down.

 

Fifty-two hours in here. Three hundred and forty-ish hours in the holding cells. Another thirty-nine thousand, six hundred forty-eight until he would come up for parole...but that thought led to other, darker places, so Zenigata wrenched his mind away from that, and focused on the prison around him, forcing his thoughts to analyze every bit of information his senses brought him and shutting everything else out.

 

It was the noise that made it the hardest to sleep. Always clamorous during the day, it seemed to intensify when the lights went off, shouts, howls, laughter, and curses ringing through the halls. It didn't help that the building stank, a mixture of sweat, armpit, urine, and something rotting, a smell that faded as you spent more time exposed to it, but never quite disappeared. Now, in late June, the prison was hot and muggy; the concrete walls had been painted with some kind of latex-based paint that absorbed nothing and dripped with condensation. He could feel the moisture soaking into one elbow that brushed a little too close to the wall, and shifted away. The first night, he'd tried to stay cool by pressing against the concrete, but he'd woken up to find one side of the stiff grey uniform damp and clammy, and he hadn't tried that again.

 

Shifting too close to the center of the cell though, he could hear Conte shuffle away from him, keeping his distance as though the ex-cop might somehow infect him with his abysmal luck. Biting the inside of his lip, Zenigata went still.

 

The cells were originally only designed to hold one inmate, but it was cheaper to change that than to build another prison entirely. Instead of adding a second bunk above the first, which would've actually made sense, they'd added a second concrete shelf to the other side of each cell, so that there was only a two-foot path between the two to reach the toilet and sink in the cramped floorspace at the back. It was poor planning in a prison that was already badly designed and badly maintained and at its capacity; putting two men in each cell instead of one had extended the amount of prisoners they could take, but not indefinitely, and they were drawing pretty close again to over-full.

 

Then again, there was always the possibility that as they got close to the limit, they'd add two more bunks above the first pair and try to cram four men into each cell. Just to make this even more hellishly miserable.

 

As exhausted as he was, it was several more hours before he finally closed his eyes, and he didn't sleep deeply, drifting in and out as the other prisoners gibbered and moaned around him.

 

Hours later, he came suddenly awake. He could feel his arms and legs, but they didn't seem to want to move, too sleep-heavy to obey his orders. There was a moment when he wondered what had woken him, then he heard it again.

 

Someone nearby was speaking Japanese. They weren't shouting orders, so it wasn't a guard, and he'd bet everything he owned - which was little enough at this point - that Conte didn't speak Japanese.

 

He had to be dreaming. That was the only reason he'd be hearing Japanese when he was in an Italian prison, and when his dreams contained words, they _were_ usually in the language he'd grown up speaking, but it was strange; he usually dreamed in images only, sound was rare.

 

"He wasn't supposed to have been transferred out yet," one voice muttered. "We didn't get the day wrong, did we?"

 

"No, we checked it right before we left," a second voice reassured him. "He wasn't supposed to go until the morning. Least the other guy's here, _that_ would've been a shitshow, running around looking for 'im."

 

"Let's just make the switch and get out of here," the first voice sighed. "God, he's already pretty banged up. How'd they find out who he was so fast, did they announce it or something?"

 

"I'll deal with it," the second voice rumbled. "You two grab _him_ and go."

 

A long pause, and the sound of rustling.

 

"You ready?"

 

"As I'm gonna be. Just finish those masks _soon_."

 

"What you are doing is honorable, and we shall see you again soon." A third voice, one that hadn't spoken yet.

 

"Yeah, yeah. Go, or I'm gonna change my mind." There was some more faint rustling, the sound of fabric sliding across skin, and then a very faint metallic _ting_.

 

"...gonna miss you jerks."

 

A minute or two later, the strange lethargic fuzziness had drained out of his limbs, and Zenigata sat up.

 

The cell looked exactly the same, the same grey stripes painted across the ceiling by the buzzing lights in the corridor outside, the dripping faucet, Conte lying down opposite him, close enough to touch, his back to Zenigata. Nothing had visibly changed, but something felt...off.

 

It must have disoriented him, hearing Japanese, he decided, lying down again. Even if it had just been a dream, it'd been so long since he'd spoken Japanese with anyone but Lupin and his gang...

 

This time, he fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, and he stayed that way until the buzzing alarms woke him, warning that there was half an hour until the cell doors opened and they'd better be ready to go.

 

He woke up again feeling odd, as though something had changed, the strange waking dream of last night still lodged in his mind. It wasn't that the content of the dream had been particularly noteworthy, but it was such a strange departure from the way he usually dreamed that it stood out. Maybe prison was already making him paranoid and crazy, he thought, sitting up. Three damn days, that was quick.

 

Then he caught a glimpse of the man across from him, and froze.

 

It wasn't Riccio Conte. It looked like him, but it wasn't. Years of chasing after Lupin and his gang had given him a good eye for body language and posture, and the man he'd been stuck in this cell with for the past few days was rabbity and nervous, cringing away from him lest the stigma rub off on him too and he get caught in the crossfire the next time someone attacked Zenigata. The ex-inspector couldn't really blame him for it, but it was still depressing as hell. _This_ man, whoever he was, had the same thin build as Conte, was within a centimeter or two of his height, but the way he carried himself was completely different. Instead of shrinking away and trying to disappear in on himself, he took up the space he was in and nothing else, self-contained and confident. It reminded Zenigata of a cat darting out a single paw to pin down a struggling bird, and it made his hackles rise. The last few days had made it clear that everyone in here knew who he was, and wanted to make him pay for the crime of having been a cop. His weaselly and skittish little cellmate being replaced by a predator masquerading as him heralded nothing good.

 

Making sure not to be caught staring, he stood up in the narrow aisle between the two bunks and stretched. The other guy was clearly someone not to be fucked with, but he had an inch or two and at least thirty pounds on him, and he didn't know that he'd noticed something was wrong. Without giving himself time to second-guess it, he lunged. A moment later, he had the imposter pinned against the wall, his arm across his throat.

 

"Who the hell are you and what do you want?" he snarled, and the man shifted under his grip, hands coming up to grip his forearm.

 

"Geez Pops, way to greet a guy."

 

Only three, maybe four people in the world called him Pops, and he'd last seen all of them in Miami.

 

"You're not Lupin," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. Whoever this was, they were too tall, too broad across the shoulders to be the thief, and the posture and voice were all wrong. "Who the hell are you?"

 

"I'm a little offended, Pops," the man gasped around the forearm digging into his throat. "I mean, I know Lupin's clearly your favorite, but am I really that forgettable?"

 

Too big to be Fujiko, wrong voice and definitely male, no matter how good an actress she may be, and he couldn't imagine Goemon speaking so informally, or speaking Italian. That left...

 

"Jigen," he stated, easing the pressure on the other man's throat. "Jigen Daisuke."

 

"Oh good, you do remember me," he said wryly, rubbing his neck. "I mean, we did just spend two weeks stuck in a cave..."

 

"What the hell are you doing here?" Zenigata snarled, grabbing him by the shoulders and slamming him back against the wall. "And...wh-what've you done with Conte?" The words 'why shouldn't I arrest you,' had almost come out of his mouth, but he'd managed to stop himself in time. The irony would've been revolting.

 

"Squirrelly little guy I'm impersonating?" Jigen asked, yanking himself out of Zenigata's grip. "He's with Lupin and Goemon, they'll keep an eye on him. _I'm_ here to make sure _you_ don't die."

 

"Well then you can turn around and leave again," Zenigata snapped. "I didn't ask you to come."

 

"Hello to you too," Jigen grumbled. "How're you holding up?" His eyes, a strange shade of watery hazel _(contacts, has to be, file lists his eyes as grey)_ raked over the visible bruises on Zenigata's face, his cut lip, and the trail of contusions down his chest where the collar of the prison uniform gapped open. "...never mind."

 

"Fuck off," Zenigata grumbled, striding to the back of the cell, jerking the faucet on, and splashing the tepid water on his face. He wasn't sure how he looked, but he felt as though steam was about to come pouring out of his ears. "If you're here to laugh at me, great, you've done that, now go."

 

"What part of 'here to make sure you don't die' isn't registering, Pops?"

 

He refused to dignify that with an answer, largely because he had no idea what to say to that.

 

One of the guards trailed by, clicker in hand, taking morning count, and Jigen, still sprawled on the concrete bunk, watched Zenigata move to stand in front of the cell door.

 

He seemed amazingly collected, for being in prison and having his life fall apart around his ears - especially given that collection of bruises and cuts he'd picked up. But there he was, standing at the barred door with his back ramrod straight, familiar obstinate expression stamped across his square features, as though waiting to give his report to the director. Then, as the buzzers shrilled and the door squealed open, his shoulders slumped just a little, and Jigen caught a look he recognized. Exhaustion. The inspector would keep fighting, because there was no way to stop, but he was starting to lose the reason behind it, and from there, it was a steep and rocky tumble downhill to just giving up.

 

Then the moment passed, and Zenigata steeled himself again, and stepped out into the prison, Jigen trailing after him.

 

"So where's the mess hall? The floorplan we found was kinda vague, I figured I'd just follow you."

 

Stony silence. Zenigata continued glowering his way down the corridor, and Jigen took the opportunity to look around. It'd been dark when he'd come in the night before, and he hadn't had a chance to orient himself. Not too different from what he'd expected; lots of concrete and grey, cameras at every angle and joint of the ceiling, no windows anywhere. They were on a narrow steel walkway with cells on one side and a rail on the other, the second of four open floors of prisoners. Each cell was very much like the one he'd consigned himself to, a concrete box eight feet from wall to wall and eight feet back, with the open front closed off by bars.

 

If Zenigata was hoping to shake Jigen off by walking quickly, he was sadly mistaken.

 

"So how bad are the guards here? Straightlaced and by the book, or give no shits?"

 

"Why the hell are you asking me?" he bit out. "I'm corrupt, remember? Can't take my word."

 

"Please, you are the _least_ corrupt cop I've ever met."

 

"Great," he growled, stalking down the concrete corridor, "the criminal scum I've spent most of my life chasing are the only ones who actually think I'm innocent. Just _great_."

 

"Don't let anyone else hear you say that, Pops, you're clearly unpopular enough already." He could hear the smirk in Jigen's voice without turning around, and the fact that he was right just made Zenigata grind his teeth that much harder.

 

"Like it'll make any difference," he grumbled, switching to Japanese anyway.

 

They reached an open staircase, took it down to the first floor, and joined the steady stream of men yawning and shuffling towards what had to be breakfast. It made Jigen twitchy. He already felt about two pounds too light without his faithful Magnum tucked into his belt, and without his hat or his bangs to hide behind, there was no way to avoid eye contact that wouldn't make him look like easy prey. No cigarettes, no alcohol worth drinking, no sharpshooting, no privacy, the constant reek, limited showers, the food was bound to be terrible, way too many people in too small a space with nothing to do but make his job harder, and he had to make eye contact or else mark himself as a target...god, this place was hell.

 

They arrived at the mess hall, joined the mass of bodies slowly shambling through the line. A bored-looking inmate in a brown kitchen uniform handed Jigen a cardboard tray with four divots in it. One had something grey, one had something yellow, one had some flimsy-looking utensils, and the fourth held a paper cup.

 

Coffee. There was coffee. It looked and smelled like motor oil, and doubtless tasted like it too, but at least it was caffeinated. Small favors. Feeling marginally more upbeat, he turned to find that Zenigata was clearly trying to lose him in the crowd. It took less than thirty seconds to spot him about halfway across the room, at a particularly empty table, and flop himself and his tray down directly across from the irritable ex-officer.

 

"Why are you only around when I don't want you?!"

 

"Call it a knack."

 

The food, like most prisons, was barely edible, and Jigen gave off bothering Zenigata to choke down the gummy oatmeal and the yellow sludge that was, ostensibly, scrambled eggs. He'd gotten soft, used to a steady diet of fine restaurants and good, greasy takeout and Lupin's astoundingly good French cooking. Even on stakeouts, it was usually cup noodles and whiskey and strong black coffee, which, while dull, weren't bad. Getting used to prison food instead was going to suck.

 

As he decided he'd had about as much of the over-salty gunk as he would be able to stomach, he noticed the cluster of convicts whispering and glancing towards the two of them, eyes slitted.

 

He'd read the files on the man whose face and place in jail he was borrowing, and it was nothing special. White collar fraud, kept panicking and trying to escape until he'd finally been transferred to max only a week or two before their favorite cop was. There was nothing there to merit any attention. This had to be about Zenigata.

 

The ex-inspector had noticed too. He'd have to walk straight past them to return his tray and leave the mess hall.

 

Without so much as glancing at Jigen, he stood up from the bolted-down bench, flimsy tray clenched in both hands, and started striding back towards the counter like a man with places to be, stolidly ignoring the chaff and refuse swirling around him. It lasted right up until another inmate very deliberately stumbled into him, knocking the sloppy remains of the tray straight down his chest. He used the distraction to make a grab for his arm, and Zenigata responded immediately, elbowing him in the gut and stepping out of reach, eyes narrowing, waiting for his next move. He didn't have long to wait, the other guy feinting a blow and trying to get in close.

 

Watching the show, Jigen decided it might be time to jump in as two more of the guy's buddies slunk into view, cracking their knuckles. He eyed the utensils, but they were plastic-coated paper, barely sturdy enough even to manage the congealed oatmeal, they'd be useless in a fight. Fists and fear would serve him better.

 

The gunman half-rose, eyeing the backup, but by then the guards had noticed and were wandering over at their leisure, and he reconsidered. Call them guards, call them COs, cowboys, ducks, screws, bulls, hacks, but picking a fight in a crowded area with plenty of them around was always a bad idea. No need to stand out too soon, if the guards would take care of this one.

 

They weren't in any hurry to get there, and by the time they were close enough to start shouting, "That's enough, break it up!" Zenigata had picked up a bloody nose to match his cut lip, and the inmate who'd tried to grab him had a blooming black eye and was doubled over, wheezing.

 

"Quit it, or I'll give you a strike," one of the guards snapped, shoving the two of them apart. Without looking at them, Zenigata nodded stiffly, picked up the dropped and empty tray, returned it to the counter, and strode out of the room, fingernails digging into his palms.

 

Jigen caught up with him outside the mess hall.

 

"You know that guy?"

 

"Nope."

 

"Sooooo he just have a problem with you being a cop?"

 

"Presumably."

 

"So what's next?"

 

"You going away."

 

"Not gonna happen."

 

Zenigata snarled and turned away, stalking down the hall towards the cell block. He didn't have to look back to know that Jigen was right behind him.

 

It was around the entrance to the south wing that he finally paused, adrenaline fading enough for him to notice the blood dripping from his nose. Wiping it on the back of his hand and pinching the bridge of his nose hard, he glanced down at the blood and egg smeared across his front, frowning.

 

"Dammit, I only have one clean shirt left." He'd been issued four shirts, four pairs of pants, and a pair of cheap canvas shoes when he'd been transferred into the general population, but it seemed he couldn't go a day without getting them covered in blood, dirt, food, or some combination thereof.

 

"Let's figure out where the laundry gets done then. And when _our_ laundry gets done," Jigen added, sniffing the grey prison shirt he was wearing with distaste. "Did this asshole even bother to shower...?"

 

As irate as he was, Zenigata couldn't argue the logic. Ten-ish minutes of searching turned up the prison laundry, back towards the main hub where the different banks of cells connected. A battered service counter separated the throbbing roar of the giant industrial washing machines from the rest of the hallway, and the inmate working at the desk either didn't know who Zenigata was, or was one of the few who didn't seem to have a grudge against him. He was friendly enough as he checked the numbers on their prison-issued IDs and informed them that Zenigata's day to bring his laundry by was in two days, and Jigen's was the day after.

 

"Yeah, just stick whatever you aren't wearing in your laundry bag, bring it here, and initial that we've got it, and you can pick it up the next day," he told them with a smile. "It's once a week, so it's easiest just wear the same set two days in a row and switch over on your laundry day, you'll get the hang of it soon enou..."

 

He abruptly went pale, staring through the gap between them, and shrank away from the counter. Reluctantly, both men turned to face whatever had spooked him.

 

Eight men total, fanned out in a wedge behind their leader, a tough with tattoos down his neck and across both sets of knuckles. He wasn't that big, Jigen thought, eyeing the lineup, but he had the look of someone who'd cause trouble just because he was bored, pick a target and harass them relentlessly just to enjoy their fear and pain until they finally broke completely and stopped being fun, then move on to a new victim. Probably wasn't that dangerous on his own, but with seven others behind him, he'd be ruthless. Best to deal with this now, make it clear that they were too much trouble to be enjoyable prey.

 

"Hey, _cop_ ," he grinned, showing a smile that had a lot of gaps in it. "Breakfast was pretty shitty, doncha think? Some fresh bacon might help it go down easier." The rest of his crew snickered, and Zenigata's hands curled into fists. He could handle himself in a fight, wouldn't have survived long as an officer if he couldn't, but eight was just too many, and they were out for blood sport. This was going to get very ugly.

 

"Stay out of this," he muttered out of the side of his mouth.

 

"Not a chance," Jigen muttered back.

 

"You'll have to take that up with the kitchen crew," Zenigata snapped, switching back to Italian and taking a single step forward. "I don't have much say in what's on the menu."

 

"I think we can take one pig on its own," Looking For Trouble sneered, cracking his knuckles. The rest of them casually started spreading out, cutting off any chance of running. "Stupid pig, getting stuck in here with us. Gonna have _fun_ making you squeal an' cry."

 

Ignoring Jigen as completely as if he wasn't there, one of the biggest of the gang abruptly grabbed the soiled front of Zenigata's shirt, hitting him hard across the face, to the accompaniment of jeers and catcalls. Spitting blood, the ex-inspector chopped one hand into his wrist, breaking his grip, but someone else shoved him from behind, mocking laughter ringing. He stumbled, managed to catch himself, blocked a flurry of blows from his right and side-stepped a low kick, but he caught another punch to the jaw as a hand grabbed the back of his shirt, yanked, and this time he went down hard. Grinning in triumph, a thin-faced blond man pinned him to the ground, knee planted between his shoulders. "Squeal for me," he jeered, shoving Zenigata's face hard against the concrete as the circle closed ranks, every eye on the prone figure and bloodlust rising.

 

There was no warning shout or "Hey!" to get their attention. Jigen just slammed into them like a stone through pulped and rotten wood.

 

Outnumbered this badly, he didn't bother going for blows to the chest, which would hurt but wouldn't stop them from fighting back. He aimed for temples and chin and throat and ears, places that would either knock them out or put them in too much pain to keep fighting, kicked out at knees or yanked shoulders out of their sockets where he could.

 

Too focused on Zenigata, they hadn't seen him coming, and he made full use of that advantage. Within seconds, three of the eight were down, and the one pinning Zenigata down made the mistake of glancing away. It was the work of a moment for the ex-cop to flip their positions, one elbow slamming into his spine, knocking the wind out of him and knocking him flat.

 

Once he was back on his feet, the fight was over quickly. Two of the remaining four couldn't decide which threat to face first, and Jigen took advantage of their confusion to punch one in the side of the head, leaving him cross-eyed and dazed, ears ringing. The other stepped forward, searching for an opening, managed to hit his shoulder before Jigen stomped down hard on his foot, delivering three quick blows to his stomach and one to the back of his neck as he doubled over in pain.

 

The ringleader had leapt for Zenigata as soon as he was up, snarling bravado masking fear, and had managed to get a single punch in before Zenigata swept his feet out from under him, the ex-cop's foot slamming into his shoulder only when he tried to get up again. Finally realizing the fight was lost, he went still, eyes narrowed in hatred and panting for breath.

 

That left one attacker, and he threw his hands up in surrender as Jigen rounded on him, breathing hard, adrenaline up and clearly spoiling for more of a fight.

 

"Conte! I thought you wanted nothin' to do with the cop!" he yelped, eyes darting around, looking for help, or a guard, or a convenient knife.

 

"Guess I changed my mind," Jigen grinned, all eyeteeth and feral as he grabbed the front of the remaining man's shirt.

 

*****************************

 

"I told you to stay out of it."

 

"You're welcome."

 

Silence.

 

"At least we figured out where the laundry room is."

 

"Go away."

 

"No."

 

More silence.

 

They were in the cell again; after the guards had taken the afternoon count, they were locked in from one to five o'clock, when they'd be let out again until ten.  Zenigata scowled at the ceiling, hands folded on his chest. Jigen continued to be insufferable.

 

It was inconceivable to Zenigata that no one else had noticed that this wasn't Riccio Conte, that the body language and attitude had changed completely overnight. Then again, the mask Jigen was wearing was a good facsimile, and Jigen was a decent actor, and most people were probably used to being able to trust faces. If it looked like the same person day after day, most people would assume it _was_ the same person, even if the personality shifted a bit. Chasing after Lupin spoiled you for a lot of things.

 

Just as he had been with Conte, they were sitting here in silence, though this quiet was rife with exasperation, rather than fear and distrust.

 

Minutes later, it was Zenigata who finally broke it.

 

"You're really not going away, are you," he grumbled. It wasn't really a question.

 

"Nope," came the drawled reply. "On the bright side, Pops, you already know you won't have to worry about me stabbing you in your sleep or somethin'. If I ever actually tried to kill you, and if it hasn't happened yet it probably won't..." the amusement in Jigen's voice became more evident "...we'd both be awake, and armed, and not in _here_."

 

Zenigata really, really hated that that was actually something to be happy about. He also hated the fact that the simmering rage that had been burning through him since Jigen showed up was still an improvement over the flat grey misery and resignation of the past few weeks.

 

A few minutes later, there was a sigh.

 

"Look, like it or not, I'm here," Jigen told him. "We both know damn well that you're innocent. And corruption charges are usually low security or mid, at most. You're here because someone is trying to get you killed. The way we figured it, you started investigating something that someone didn't want you to, and they rigged this up. You're not the only cop at Interpol though, and someone else is going to start digging into the same thing you did. Probably another honest cop, the crooked ones will know to leave it alone. Probably one of your friends, trying to figure out why you're here. And whoever it was behind this will have to get rid of them too. We wanna prevent that, we prefer keeping the honest ones around. Less likely to try and shoot us on sight. But we need you to be alive for that to work." _Obstinate idiot. Worse than a mule._

 

Both of them glared at the ceiling.

 

"Fine," Zenigata said curtly. "Since it looks like I'm stuck with you, and because I really, really don't want this happen to anyone else...fine."

 

Jigen was quietly relieved that that had worked; he'd always been shit at pep talks, and he hadn't figured Zenigata would be this difficult to convince. Should've known that the best way to motivate him was to make it a matter of protecting someone else, he wouldn't give a thought to his own safety, but he'd go through hellfire to keep anyone else from getting hurt. Stubborn bastard.

 

Zenigata, for his part, was quietly worrying. He'd assumed that this was happening by the machinations of some enemy he'd picked up over the years, and there were plenty of those, or else simply as a result of his own screw-ups coming back to bite him in spectacular fashion, and there were plenty of those too. He'd never even thought that it might be to shut him up, keep him from following some line of investigation. If Jigen was right, and that was why he'd been targeted, then Melon was going to be the first one on the chopping block after him, and he couldn't do a damn thing about it from in here.

 

Melon was a good kid. A good cop. She'd flatly refused to believe it when he'd been charged with conspiracy and corruption, had loudly defended him until he told her, as nicely as he could, to stay the hell away from him. She was still young, and her career, although off to a shining start, wouldn't survive the stigma of being associated with a disgraced former officer. He was smart enough to know that his ship was going down, and he didn't want her to get dragged down with him.

 

He had no idea what Lupin and the remainder of his gang intended to do about it. In all of their heists, police corruption was never a thing they'd tackled beyond simply exposing it for Zenigata to clean up later. Quite frankly, he had no idea what they _could_ do about it, though of course he'd help them, if it might keep Melon and the rest of his department safe.

 

And meanwhile, Jigen was here to keep _him_ safe. What a strange thought, that the ex-sniper he'd spent years trying to arrest had voluntarily gone to prison to act as his bodyguard. He did believe Jigen, that he was trying to protect him and that he wouldn't attack him or try to harm him, but there had to be something else there too; some other angle that he wasn't seeing, some reason for being here besides just him. Maybe Jigen was making sure he stayed in here, until Lupin was done pulling some other job.

 

Whatever it was, he appeared to be stuck with the gunman.

 

He was still much too angry to admit it, but after three weeks of humiliation and aggressive strangers and constant anxiety, some familiar company...wasn't the worst thing in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing Jigen being kind of a shit is very fun. Poor Zenigata. More Lupin next chapter. I am way out of practice at writing fight scenes, though I suppose I'll get plenty to practice on here.
> 
> Should be fairly obvious, but this is not meant to be a real prison, nor is it particularly representative of what prison is probably like. I wouldn't know, I've never been. I'm borrowing details from a dozen sources ranging from Alcatraz to POW internment camps to American supermax prisons to Orange Is the New Black, adding and dropping stuff as it fits the story, so while some details are pulled from real sources and match up to things in the real world, other bits are purely invented for my own convenience. Considering Lupin arranged to be sent to a super-prison called Execution Island on a shoplifting charge in Farewell to Nostradamus, this is probably a good fandom to play just a little fast and loose with strict realism.
> 
> The Lupin wiki lists Zenigata as being right around 6 foot and 160 pounds, and Jigen as being around 5'10 and 150 pounds, but given that Jigen's usually drawn as being fairly thin and Zenigata's usually drawn as being burlier than most of the gang, I'm going for a slightly greater difference in weight. The wiki also lists Lupin as being 5'10 and around 135 pounds, but I tend to figure him to be somewhat shorter. Given how much the character designs vary artist to artist, I figure it's largely a matter of preference. Any problems, take it up with Monkey Punch. =)
> 
> Also, my university accidentally scheduled in two hours a week for me to write fanfic.
> 
> As part of a really sweet scholarship I got, I'm required to spend a couple hours a week working as a math tutor for one of the 100-level algebra classes. No one ever shows up for tutoring, and it used to be that if no one signs up or shows up, you don't have to be there either, but they recently decided that they want all of the tutors in the math center during their scheduled hours, even if they're the only person in there. You can't really work on homework or class work, there just isn't space, so I've been bringing my phone along and using it as designated fanfic writing and research time. I'm technically getting paid for this. Sorta.


	3. Chapter 3

After getting Jigen into the cell, Lupin and Goemon hustled the unconscious Conte out of the prison and into their waiting car, dodging guards and making it back only two minutes before their looped feed blinked and turned off, bringing the security cameras back up to normal.

 

"Picture-perfect," Lupin congratulated them, throwing the car into reverse. Goemon hummed in agreement, settling into the back seat beside their acquisition. It would be a long drive back to their base in France, but they hadn't wanted to risk flying without knowing the area they were heading into, or having any idea of the terrain.

 

Lupin drove the first five hours, with a brief pause at the border until his contact in Customs waved them through, tacitly ignoring the handcuffed and unconscious Conte in the backseat.  In rural France, Goemon took over so he could nap, driving far more cautiously than Lupin had been. The samurai had eventually caved to necessity and gotten his driver's license, but it was still far from his favorite thing to be doing. Under normal circumstances, without Jigen there to take over, they'd have just pulled over until Lupin felt awake enough to drive again, but they had far too much still to do when they got back to Paris to waste the time. It'd been a long day, getting everything ready to swap Conte out with Jigen, and it'd be another long day when they got back.

 

Lupin woke up again somewhere around Orleans, and drove them the rest of the way back to Paris, pulling into the covered garage around mid-afternoon.

 

"Ten hours there, twelve back," he grumbled, getting out of the cramped little Fiat and stretching. "That's gonna get real miserable real fast."

 

"Necessity," Goemon shrugged, pulling Conte out of the backseat and slinging him over one shoulder, the Zantetsuken in his other hand. And dammit, Lupin already missed Jigen and his banter, and getting answers that were more than way-too-practical single-word replies or Zen poetry.

 

"Okay, first thing is the masks," the thief muttered, more to himself than to any particular audience. "Then Fujiko, and finding a lawyer, and laying down the law to whatever-his-name-is here, then see if I can break in and pull Pops' files..." God, it was going to be a long day.

 

Masks first. That was easy. The mask Jigen was wearing now had been sculpted and painted from Conte's mugshot, but it wouldn't hold up longer than a few days, a week at most, and they needed something a little more long-term. He didn't like to consider just how long-term.

 

Goemon, bless his sensible soul, already had Conte propped up in front of the scanner and cuffed to the arms of the shabby wooden kitchen chair. Lupin checked his pulse, then pulled up an eyelid to check his pupil dilation. The drugs should keep him out for about another two hours. Perfect. Letting his eyelid drop again, Lupin pulled up the relevant program, and a grid of fine green lines appeared superimposed over the convict's slack features. The modeling program would scan Conte's features and layer them over the scan they'd taken of Jigen, then send it to the 3-D printer to be sculpted in latex. Once Lupin was done painting on the details, the result, hopefully, would be a series of lightweight and sturdy masks that Jigen could wear for days at a time with no noticeable wear and no great discomfort.

 

Leaving the printer running and Goemon to move Conte to the dummy apartment they'd set up, the thief headed off to his next task: recruiting Fujiko.

 

Her latest apartment, unsurprisingly, was an elegant and high-ceilinged studio overlooking the Seine. As she stood back from the door to let him in, Lupin recognized at least three Expressionist masterpieces that had gone missing from the Musee d'Orsay several years before hanging on her walls, and a brand-new, top-of-the-line, and highly illegal combat rifle that Jigen had been practically drooling over sitting disassembled on the table, halfway through being cleaned and upgraded.

 

"Do what do I owe the dubious pleasure?" she called over her shoulder, pulling out a bottle of wine that the label indicated as being priceless and Lupin knew for damn sure was good but not that good. No way she'd waste the real deal on him and risk him stealing it out from under her. "I didn't think you'd leave the beach until you'd spent every last gold ingot from the Federal Reserve job."

 

There were so, so many ways he could twist and tease and play with an opening like that, but the sleep deprivation and anxiety of the night before were still weighing in his stomach like bad seafood, so for once, he decided to be direct.

 

"Pops."

 

"Ah."

 

Both were silent for a moment as she handed him the glass of wine.

 

"We saw it in the paper, but too late to do anything," Lupin said finally, several sips later. A good vintage, as he'd suspected, but definitely not 1947 Cheval Blanc St. Emilion. He was a little insulted if she actually thought he'd fall for that. "How the fuck did this happen?"

 

"I'm surprised it made it to print," Fujiko told him, swirling her own glass of wine. "I've been following it online, none of the newspapers were carrying anything about it. They tried their damndest to shut the media out completely, and mostly, it worked."

 

"That explains why we didn't catch it," Lupin groaned, "we've been in Suriname."

 

"Yeah, I know," she told him, unimpressed. "I was there. Didn't you wonder why I was going back to France when there were beaches and cocktails available on your dime?"

 

"I figured there were diamonds or something involved," Lupin told her. "And let me guess, you didn't say anything because you assumed we already knew?"

 

"Yeah."

 

"Dammit." Now that he thought about it, he sort of remembered her saying something about a trial as she was leaving, but it had been as the takeout had arrived and as Goemon had hit that perfect, 'Oh god he's so cute and fluffy, he is soooo gonna regret this in the morning!' level of drunk, and Lupin had been too busy paying the driver and trying to convince Jigen to take blackmail pictures to pay too much attention.

 

There was a long pause as each of them kept company with their own thoughts.

 

"How bad was it?" Lupin had to ask.

 

"Kangaroo court," she sighed. "He had a court-appointed lawyer, either crooked or just plain stupid, the result was the same. The judge was clearly in someone's pocket, half the evidence was faked, and he lost his temper, made himself look like a raging idiot."

 

"Why didn't you do anything?"

 

"Because I assumed _you_ were going to do something," she glared. "He's more your pet than mine, and everyone knows you're the only one he's really after anyway."

 

"Well, we're trying to Do Something now," Lupin sighed. "Capital letters and all. I don't like people messing with what's mine, and if they're willing to target him, with his shiny sparkly reputation, odds are they're coming after us next, and I'd rather have him out and working our case and shouting down anyone who has the audacity even to look at us funny. You willing to help us bust this conspiracy open and get Pops out of the clink?"

 

" _If_ we can do anything in time," she pointed out. "Whoever's behind this is clearly hoping to get him killed. How can you be sure they won't succeed before you can do anything about it?"

 

"Jigen's there too," Lupin told her. "We broke in last night, disguised him as one of the other inmates. He'll make sure Pops stays in one piece while we figure the rest of this out."

 

 _That_ got Fujiko's attention. Whatever her personal thoughts about the gang's gunman, he was absolutely not a person to be fucked with. If anyone could hope to keep Zenigata alive in the gladiator ring with a target painted on his back, it was probably him. Jigen was also a creature of deep-seated habit and very specific likes and dislikes, and being in prison would check every box on the long list of things he hated. Except maybe dentists, anyway. That he was willing to go, and that Lupin was willing to risk him going, said a lot about how serious they were in this.

 

"Whadya say? Will you give me a hand?"

 

Fujiko debated with herself. This was probably going to set her back a good bit - she couldn't imagine this being a profitable venture, and normally she wouldn't embark on any job that she couldn't foresee a nice solid bottom line for. She didn't have Lupin's love of adventuring just for the sake of making memories. But she had at least a measure of respect for the inexorable, incorruptible Inspector Zenigata, and the trial had been a miserable farce. He deserved better than that, at least. Add in the fact that Lupin would be functionally useless until they got this fixed...

 

"I'm not opposed to helping," she said cautiously, "but I still need to have a source of income during this. I have bills to pay and contacts to keep up, you know. Can you make it worth my while?"

 

Lupin grinned at that, waggling his eyebrows.

 

"Oh don't worry...I'm _sure_ I can."

 

* _smack_ *

 

"Oww! That isn't what I meant!"

 

*****************************

 

Jigen was hunched over, ill-tempered and miserable, while they waited out the afternoon stuck in the cramped cell. A particularly bad pang of migraine struck, slamming silver just behind his skull, and he hissed through his teeth.

 

In spite of his lingering irritation, Zenigata had to ask.

 

"Something wrong?"

 

"Nicotine headache," he grumbled, rubbing his temples. "Going cold turkey is a bitch anyway, and the stupid mask isn't helping. So damn hot it's like having your head wrapped in a plastic bag."

 

That was...actually something he could sympathize with. "I usually chew gum when I'm trying to quit," the ex-officer sighed. "Couldn't this time, just had to deal with it, but..." Jigen paused, glanced at him. He'd forgotten that Zenigata smoked too. Not as heavily as Jigen, but then, few people did. Being forced to quit so abruptly had to suck; at least he'd known this was coming in advance.

 

"Does gum help?" He'd never bothered trying to quit before. Maybe he could get some from the commissary, anything that would help these headaches.

 

"Not really."

 

Zenigata had been smoking for years, and he could feel it, especially now that he was getting older; the way he found himself out of breath only ten minutes into a chase, couldn't seem to draw air deep enough to satisfy his aching lungs. Jigen, meanwhile, smoked like a house on fire, but somehow it never seemed to slow the bastard down. _That's just not fair._

 

"Heh. Can't say I've ever tried to quit before. Always figured I wouldn't live long enough for the cigarettes to kill me anyway, might as well enjoy 'em." As long as he was talking, he wasn't thinking about just how very, _very_ badly he wanted a smoke. God, and his hair was matted with sweat under the mask, starting to plaster itself across his temples. Why in hell hadn't he thought to grab a hair tie?

 

The inspector's lips quirked in spite of himself, enjoying the conversation.

 

"Given my choice, you'd have had to quit a lot earlier."

 

There was a pause, and then Jigen's eyebrows rose as the implication sank in.

 

"An' look how well that's worked out, Pops."

 

"You're in prison now, aren't you, I'll take the victories I can get."

 

"Careful calling the kettle black there, cellmate."

 

"Well, I did always figure that taking down the Lupin gang would involve some self-sacrifice." His tone was light though, enjoying the teasing edge of the conversation, no matter how serious the subject matter might be.

 

He'd tried to talk to Conte that first night, but the other man had made it clear he wanted _nothing_ to do with Zenigata, so he'd spent the first two days in silence, getting steadily more bruised up and beaten down as news of the incarcerated Interpol agent spread. Jigen might be gruff and obnoxious company, but he wasn't going to try and block him out, would actually speak to him, and Zenigata was surprised by just how grateful he was for that prospect. He still didn't fully understand why Jigen was so dead-set on staying in this hellhole and protecting him, but he'd be lying if he said he didn't appreciate it at least a little bit.

 

"I think that's about the definition of a pyrrhic victory, there, Pops," Jigen smirked, then occupied himself with going through Conte's meager pile of toiletries and clothes, looking for anything that might be useful. "Though hopefully not for long, anyway."

 

Without a clock, it was hard to say how long until they'd be let out for the evening, but Zenigata would guess it was still at least half an hour off. He became aware that his foot was tapping anxiously, and made an effort to still it, his hand on his knee balling into a fist.

 

Normally he'd pace, or go for a walk, to collect his thoughts and clarify his course, tying physical exertion to mental. If he had his head wrapped around a particularly thorny problem, it wasn't unusual for him to find himself striding along his favorite walk by the Seine without any conscious memory of putting his coat on or locking the door. He'd had to break that habit in a hurry though. The cell was only three paces from one side to the other, and most of the floorspace was occupied by the bunks and the toilet and sink. If he thought about it for too long, it just made him restless and itchy, so he kept himself firmly on his bunk, and didn't let himself miss what he couldn't have.

 

An unmarked eternity of time later, a guard came by, clicking off for each prisoner, and only a few minutes after, the cell doors opened with a rusty shriek of badly maintained steel. Zenigata stood with a groan, and Jigen felt the casual, almost teasing frienmity that existed in the closed-off cell dissolve like mist, leaving only hyperaware tension in its wake. The respite was over, and it was back into the forest of malice and fists.

 

At least in here he wouldn't have to worry about defending against guns or projectiles, he reflected as they stepped back onto the steel walkway. Even the guards didn't carry more than mace or tazers, couldn't risk an inmate getting ahold of a firearm. He supposed someone could improvise a bow or something, but it wouldn't have enough force or accuracy to be a real threat. All the furniture was bolted down, and the rec yard didn't have more than grass and gravel, so he wouldn't have to worry about thrown rocks, or getting hit with a chair. The biggest risks would be an attacker carrying an improvised knife, and, even more so, just the sheer number of people he had to protect Zenigata from.

 

They'd have to avoid getting cornered. That was the most important thing, he'd have to make sure they had a clear escape route at all times. Zenigata wasn't too shabby in a fight, and Jigen knew his own limits, they'd be able to hold their own, but absolute numbers would overwhelm even the best fighter, and if they got cornered by too large a gang, it was over.

 

"So what do we do now?" he muttered as they reached the main floor.

 

"Pretty much anything," Zenigata offered listlessly. It was easier to ignore in the cell, talking almost normally with someone he knew, even if he didn't particularly like, but being out here, wondering where the next attack was going to come from, was a depressing reminder that he was somewhere he hated and was hated in return, with no prospect of leaving. Maybe ever. "It's five o'clock now, dinner isn't until eight, and then we're locked in again at ten."

 

"Is there _anything_ entertaining to do that won't get us killed?" Jigen wondered aloud, glancing around the bare prison hall. The rec yard was a death trap with only one door in or out and no guards around to step in, it'd be way too easy to get trapped out there. The lounge area they'd passed that morning at least had a few different exits, it'd be easier to escape, but as the only place in the prison with a TV, it was always crowded - going there was just inviting trouble. He badly wanted a shower, but until Lupin turned up with better-fitting masks, that was out, he couldn't risk accidentally ripping the whole damn thing off. He'd have to make sure he didn't get punched in the face until then either...

 

"How the hell should I know?" Zenigata snapped, then caught himself. His bad temper was only slightly Jigen's fault, and it wouldn't be fair to take it out on what might be his only ally here. "I think someone mentioned a library or something," he muttered, by way of apology.

 

"It's something to pass the time," Jigen shrugged.

 

The library wasn't hard to find, a long, boxy room jammed into a space where the blocks of cells gave way to administrative offices behind barred-off corridors. Three or four banks of battered metal shelves ran the length of the room, carrying shabby paperbacks stacked in no particular order. Jigen was relieved to see a door at each end. It wouldn't guarantee them a way out, but it couldn't hurt.

 

"This seems kind of cruel," he mused, pulling a cookbook off a random shelf and flipping past recipes for lasagna and tiramisu. "Wonder where they get the books from."

 

"Donations no one else wanted, by the looks of it," Zenigata snorted, paging through a murder mystery with the ending ripped out. "Reckon there's anything here worth reading?"

 

"Another few days of staring at the ceiling, and I bet my standards will be low enough to try." Every book seemed to be missing pages, and Jigen idly wondered what use inmates found for them. Papier-mache knives? Secret messages? Toilet paper? Origami? Cigarette papers? At that thought though, his headache twinged again, reminding him that it could be ignored but not erased. Gritting his teeth, he investigated a section of slightly less smashed-looking trade paperbacks. Literally _anything_ to do was better than the thought of the constant nothing and boredom.

 

Half an hour later, Zenigata wandered back over, carrying three or four books that had passed muster. He seemed at least marginally happier, Jigen noted, pleased enough to have a reason to put down the ancient and deeply boring copy of Thee Greate Whale he was paging through. Apparently the pages were too brittle to be useful, and it had somehow escaped maiming.

 

"Anything good?"

 

"Short stories seemed safe enough. Even if a couple are missing pages, it won't ruin the whole book."

 

"I think I remember this one," Jigen mused, grabbing the middle book of the stack. O. Henry. "We read a coupla these in middle school. Weird, finding it in Italian. And in prison."

 

Zenigata opened his mouth to reply, but before he got the chance, the far door opened, and they both instinctively ducked behind the nearest shelf. Six or seven inmates came in, following an absolutely massive guy with a shaved head. They didn't seem to be looking for him and Jigen, but from the way they were glancing at each other and cracking their knuckles, Zenigata suspected they weren't there for book club either.

 

Mutely, Jigen pointed to the door nearest them, screened on the left by a row of shelves, and they silently made their way towards it as the group came up the aisle on their right. At the end of the row though, Jigen paused, thinking hard.

 

"Go!" he hissed, coming to a decision. Zenigata gave him a searching look, then did as he said, slipping out the door and leaving Jigen crouched there.

 

His head cocked, listening closely to the footsteps as he grabbed a book at random off the shelf...

 

"Aah, sorry!" Jigen had turned the corner around the bookshelf at exactly the same moment as they'd rounded it, his nose in a book, and stumbled headlong into the group. Disgusted, Shaved Head shoved him away, and turned back to the rest of his gang, muttering, "Dipshit." Jigen's eyes narrowed, but he let it pass and slid out the door after Zenigata, confident that he'd already gotten his revenge.

 

"What was that?" the inspector hissed, following him down the hall and still clutching the stack of books. "Were you planning to fight them yourself or something?!"

 

"Just hang on, Pops."

 

Glancing around to make sure they were out of sight of cameras and guards, Jigen emptied his pockets. Four roughly made shivs, made of various bits of plastic, wood, and metal, plus a candy bar, a paperclip, a neatly looped piece of string, and a stick of deodorant. Zenigata felt his jaw drop.

 

"The hell...?"

 

The gunman caught sight of his astonishment, and snorted, dumping the homemade knives in a nearby garbage can.

 

"Tch. What, you thought Lupin was the only thief in the group, the rest of us were just a gun and a sword and a pair of tits? He's the best at it, but the rest of us aren't just standing there looking decorative y'know."

 

Putting that aside... "You aren't keeping them? Why bother to steal them?"

 

"Not worth it to get caught with 'em," Jigen told him, peeling the chocolate open. "We need you to come across as a model prisoner, Pops, can't give 'em anything else to hold over you. And I don't want _them_ to have 'em, because they'll likely end up jammed between your ribs, or mine. I'm probably gonna wind up disarming half the prison as we go," he sighed, snapping the candy bar in half. After days of living on tasteless mush, Zenigata's mouth flooded with saliva at the sight of the glossy chocolate and caramel, but it was Jigen's rightfully stolen prize, not his.

 

"On the bright side," Jigen continued more cheerfully, taking a bite of one half, "if we do ever need knives, it'll probably be easy enough to steal someone else's. Then we have weapons and they don't." And he surprised Zenigata by handing him the other half of the chocolate bar.

 

After tossing the books into the cell where they'd be safe, the pair spent the next hour hanging around the far end of the cell block, mostly avoiding trouble, save for a few minor scuffles that ended quickly, and trying to figure out where everything was. Still sweating under the mask, Jigen mentally bookmarked the location of the block's showers, and made a note to figure out where to get toiletries. As he'd suspected, Conte didn't have much.

 

Dinner was unseasoned chicken stewed into mush, gummy rice, and powdery, unflavored soy protein chunks that they didn't even bother trying to pass off as being real food. After the first meal of crap, Jigen nearly gagged at the second, but they had skipped lunch and he could see even more inmates glaring at Zenigata, turning around to stare or eyes narrowing over their tablemates' shoulders, and he really didn't want to fight on an empty stomach. If they could find somewhere else to get food, it might be worth skipping meals in the mess hall, just to avoid the inevitable brawls.

 

This time, they didn't wait until Zenigata tried to leave. Only half a dozen bites in, and Jigen tensed, paired shadows falling over his back, automatically groping for the Magnum that wasn't there...but it wasn't him they were there for.

 

Beside him, Zenigata paused, then very deliberately stood and turned to face them, stepping over the bench. Smart, Jigen noted silently, sizing the pair up out of the corner of his eye, if he waited for them to make the first move he'd he at a disadvantage, tripping over the bolted-down bench. This way at least he was on a literal even footing.

 

"Let me guess, problem with me being an officer?" he asked warily.

 

"Howdja guess?"

 

At the first hit, the hall erupted, inmates scrambling to get away from the fighting, standing to get a better look, or cheering on the attackers. Jigen watched, eyes flicking around the room, gauging the situation and catching another inmate edging towards them, flimsy fork in hand, clearly working up the nerve to jump into the fray. Zenigata was handling two on one, but three might tip the balance. Aaaaaaany time now...

 

This time, though, the guards just watched, looking almost amused, making no move to step in. Snarling to himself, Jigen tripped other inmate who was coming to join the brawl, and kicked the one grappling with Zenigata in the back of the knee. He fell against the concrete, his shoulder hitting with a nasty snapping sound, and Zenigata made short work of the remaining one, jabbing a couple of fingers into the nerve cluster at the edge of his jaw. He went down with a garbled 'gluggghhhh' sound, landing next to his friend, who was still whimpering in pain. Breathing hard, Zenigata glanced up...and found himself standing in the center of a ring of distrustful eyes, sizing him up, wondering how much it was worth to start this fight, how much backup they could count on...

 

Then, abruptly, Jigen was at his side. 'C'mon," he muttered, grabbing Zenigata's shoulder and yanking him towards the door. "Before they make up their minds." The hair rising on the back of his neck, Zenigata forced himself not to look back.

 

*****************************

 

An hour and a half later, the guard clicked off, then slammed the cell door closed, locking them in for the night. Chin in his hand, Zenigata stared through the bars, and Jigen watched him.

 

It was so, so tempting to dismiss him as goofy ole Pops, who just couldn't catch a break, who just didn't know when he was beat. But Jigen had seen far too many people dismiss Lupin the same way, as a clown in a candy-colored jacket pratfalling through life, skating by on his grandfather's reputation, and he'd seen just how badly they regretted it later, as Lupin tangoed away with whatever prize they'd sworn he was too stupid to steal, and whatever else caught his fancy. He'd had cause to regret writing Zenigata off that way too - not every time, but often enough, he'd found himself cuffed to a lamppost or his gun shot out of his hand without warning, a perfectly executed heist falling to bits around his fedora. If you failed to take him seriously, it was likely to come back to bite you. So Pops remained the wild card, the variable that even Lupin could only ever half plan for. As clownish as both of them might be, that goofy exterior covered a core of pure steel, and if you backed them too far into a corner, you'd find yourself unconscious, or sporting a broken nose, or worse.

 

Zenigata was fearless to the point of idiocy, always more likely to double down than retreat when every sign pointed to this being a _really bad idea._ It wasn't that the inspector was stupid - far from it - but if it came down to his head or his heart, he'd more usually listen to what was between his shoulders than between his ears. And that was probably the biggest difference between the two of them, Jigen thought. Zenigata always tried to protect everyone else first, but him...he'd fight dirty and do whatever it took to make sure that he and his friends stayed alive and safe. Even if it meant doing something that he'd lose sleep over later. Deep down, Zenigata was a genuinely good person. And deep down, Jigen was pretty sure he wasn't.

 

After a long silence, the gunman sighed.

 

"Look," he said, "I already know the answer is gonna be no, but would you consider letting us break you out? You can't like being here any more than I do."

 

"No." _Although, if Jigen was willing to get him out of here if he asked, that probably meant that he wasn't just trying to keep him out of the way for one of Lupin's schemes. Was he really just here...to protect him? No ulterior motive?_

 

"Figured," Jigen groaned. "Damn shame. You could join us, we could always use a guy with steady aim and a decent head on his shoulders, and maybe then Lupin would finally shut up about what a waste it is that you're in law enforcement. You sure you don't want a change of career?" he offered one more time. _Hope springs eternal, and all that shit._ "I can pretty much guarantee we get way better healthcare than whatever second-rate insurance Interpol has you on."

 

"Like hell," Zenigata snapped out of habit, then paused as his brain caught up with his mouth. "Wait...he was actually serious about all those job offers? I thought he was just messing with me."

 

"As serious as you usually are when you try to talk him into going straight, telling him what a good little detective he'd be," Jigen grumbled. "Are either of you ever actually gonna give that up, or am I gonna spend the rest of my life listening to you two trying to talk each other into joining the dark side?"

 

"Moot point as long as I'm stuck in here," the ex-officer growled.

 

"Yeah, well, that's what we're trying to fix, isn't it?"

 

"Why do you care that much?" Zenigata couldn't help asking. "I've spent the last ten years trying to arrest you."

 

"Look," the gunman told him, "you've saved our asses... more times than I really wanna think about, actually. You're the one cop we like. We never really figured you'd need our help instead of the other way around, but now that it's happening, there's no way we can leave you here without trying to fix it."

 

"Even though that's what caused this in the first place," Zenigata grumbled, but there was no fire in it. He certainly hadn't been protesting when they'd kept him safe during the revolution, and he wasn't about to blame them when it blew up in his face. Sending Jigen in after him was another matter, but it wasn't their fault that he was here. Not really. He'd had a lot of time to think about it in the time leading up to his trial and waiting to be processed after his sentencing, and he couldn't think of anything he'd have done differently. Not about Lupin and his gang, not if he wanted to be able to live with himself afterwards. Well, except maybe have them drop him off farther down the coast, instead of in the middle of Miami.

 

" _Especially_ since that's what caused this in the first place," Jigen insisted. "How d'you think we'd feel if we got you killed?"

 

"Relieved?"

 

"Fuck you."

 

A long silence.

 

"Lupin was actually serious about that?" Zenigata couldn't resist asking again. It was kind of...flattering, actually.

 

"You can ask him yourself in a few days," Jigen grumbled, guessing the track of his thoughts. _If I have to listen to Pops fanboy over Lupin, I might punch him myself._ "He's coming back to make sure the switch went smoothly and drop off extra masks, ask 'im then. I'm sure he'd be delighted if you said yes." _I would be too, we could leave._

 

"Not a chance."

 

"Of course not," Jigen groaned, "that'd be way too easy. Heaven fucking forbid they have you in protective custody either, the way they normally do with cops in prison, or that we not be stuck in the open ten hours a day with every damn person in here trying to kill us, or that the guards fucking pay attention, or any other damn thing that might actually make my job easier."

 

Zenigata was silent, stuck between feeling guilty, and annoyed. Jigen was only here because he was, was only in danger because he was standing next to him...but he hadn't asked the bastard to come, had in fact tried to make him leave, and the gunman had refused. He didn't want this either. It might be his fault, but he hadn't exactly asked for this.

 

Jigen scowled at the ceiling, then exhaled, long and pensive, trying to funnel his frustration into planning.

 

"Okay, so as long as we _are_ stuck in here, lemme make sure I have the schedule and the layout straight," he sighed. "There's four wings, each with four tiers of cells - sixteen hundred inmates total. We're in the east wing, tier two. We're in the cell fourteen hours a day - out from 8 a.m. to 1 p.m., and then again from 5 p.m. till 10 p.m."

 

"Right," Zenigata nodded. "In the mornings, they stagger the times the doors open so that each wing gets one hour in the mess hall, and they never have more than 400 inmates in there at a time - west wing has it from 6 to 7, north from 7 to 8, etcetera. From the time the cell door opens, you've got one hour to get breakfast, then three after that to walk around or whatever else, and lunch the final hour before the count and you have to be back in the cell."

 

"Then everyone's out from 5 to 10, but again, dinnertimes are staggered," Jigen confirmed. "The mess hall, laundry, infirmary, library, and the rec yard are shared across the entire prison, then each wing has its own lounge area and showers. Staff offices are somewhere, presumably, I think past the library. The commissary should be somewhere around here too, we'll have to figure out where, that could be useful."

 

"Commissary?" Zenigata asked, surprised. Jigen glanced at him.

 

"Yeah, prison store, where you can buy junk food or whatever else they think it's safe to give out. Did no one tell you 'bout that?"

 

"No. How do you know about it?"

 

"Google. Once we figured out which prison you were being sent to, we researched it, downloaded a floor plan and guards schedules and whatever else we could find," Jigen explained. "Did they tell you _anything_?"

 

"No, not really." They'd handed him the grey shirt and pants and told him to change out of the orange ones, cuffed his hands, and escorted him to the cell they were now sitting in, already occupied by a silent and distrustful Conte. The rest, he'd figured out by watching the other prisoners.

 

"You were transferred two days early, you weren't told anything about the schedule, everyone in here knows you're a cop when anything about sentencing is supposed to be kept quiet..." Jigen mused. "We had figured that whoever was behind this just wanted you in the shittiest max security prison they could find, but it's sounding more and more like they have someone on the inside in _this_ prison, if they can pull that many strings. I'll have to tell Lupin to check backgrounds on the staff, see if it turns up any leads. How'd you figure out when the prisoner counts were?"

 

"Just by watching everyone else," Zenigata shrugged.

 

"Good thing you're a quick study. One missing prisoner would be enough to call lockdown, and there's plenty that would take that as an excuse to beat you to death for making them miss meals or time out of the cell."

 

Zenigata felt a finger of ice flit up his spine. He wanted to think that Jigen was just being paranoid, but all the little details were adding up into an ugly picture.

 

*****************************

 

After Lupin left, Fujiko mixed herself a cocktail and sat down to think this over. She was willing to help clear Pops' name, but the fact that Jigen was in prison with him - that complicated things. Fujiko didn't need Zenigata to be around in order to maintain the comfortable, enjoyable, profitable life she'd carved out for herself with Lupin and his entourage, but she did need Jigen.

 

Lupin was almost the perfect lover and competitor. Almost. When they were on a heist, he was poised and focused and almost unstoppable, and oh she had fun trying. During the times between heists though, he tended to spiral, get manic and erratic and insecure, and Fujiko wanted a lover and a rival to match herself against, an equal and opposite, not a dependent she had to look after. Goemon too, although he didn't self-destruct near as badly as Lupin did without an anchor, occasionally needed to be called back to himself, reminded to eat or cajoled into easing up on his training. They both needed some amount of looking after, and she'd found out before that she was absolute shit at looking after anyone but herself. After the first few times, she would have felt somewhat obligated to try and help, but that just wasn't a thing she had ever been good at, 'being there' and being someone else's anchor, a stable reliability. It wasn't something she had any particular interest in either, and it would quickly have soured; she'd have gotten resentful at being forced to take care of them, have cut ties and never looked back.

 

Thankfully Jigen seemed perfectly happy to fill in, keep Lupin grounded and centered and remind Goemon that no matter how much he trained, he was still bound by human metabolic limits and should probably eat. With Jigen playing mom, it left her free to come and go exactly as she pleased without worrying about what shape they'd be in when she returned. He might have been a surly pain the ass, but he was an extremely useful surly pain in the ass, and she was careful never to push him _too_ far past what she thought he'd tolerate. She was perfectly happy to sleep with Lupin and Goemon, go treasure hunting with them, call them in on heists and plots and schemes, but she didn't think she'd have the patience to actually take care of them when they needed it. It was lucky that Jigen was there to do it for her, and do it well. Even if Fujiko was pretty indifferent towards the man himself, he kept the people she did care about safe and sane, made sure that they were waiting when she got back. She'd value him for that alone.

 

She definitely didn't owe him - he was doing it willingly enough all on his own - but her comfortable relationship with Lupin would be a whole lot less fun without him there to take care of the boring parts. She had a vested interest in keeping him around.

 

That, and she'd gotten to be...well, about as fond as she could be of someone she didn't always enjoy being around. He was reliable, and even if he'd sneer at her for freeloading and showing up only when she wanted something, he'd still make her breakfast. As long as you didn't mind eating nothing but bacon and eggs dripping with grease. At least his coffee was good, strong and black as sin, and he was willing to make an extra pot for her on the rougher mornings after, which...atoned for a lot. In his particularly narrow-minded, pig-headed way, he was a decent man, one who'd go through hell and back to protect the people they both cared about, and she didn't like to think of what the gang would be without him. The drum line might be boring, a predictable 8 beats repeated over and over, but the song would still be diminished without it.

 

Until Jigen was safely out of prison, Lupin wouldn't be functioning normally, and life would be considerably less entertaining. If Jigen didn't make it out of prison at all, their carefully constructed little gang fell apart at the seams. If you gave him enough ammo and a halfway decent vantage point, she had no doubt that Jigen could hold off an entire army, but even he was human, and in prison, he really would be up against an army, with no weapons or advantages in sight. Losing Pops would change things, permanently and badly, but losing both of them would break something in Lupin that she didn't think she and Goemon alone would ever be able to put back together. Jigen was there keeping Zenigata safe, and he was much too stubborn to leave until that was accomplished. Therefore, her priority right now had to be fixing this and getting Zenigata out of prison, so that Jigen could leave too. She had no intention of telling Lupin _just_ how much time and money and effort she was prepared to put towards this little project, but unless they cleared Zenigata's name, this was probably the end of their gang. And she found she was unwilling to give that up.

 

Her mind made up, Fujiko drained the last few sips of her cocktail, and pulled out her cell phone.

 

"Hey Helené," she greeted, setting the empty crystal goblet back on the counter. "Yeah, it's me. Listen, I'm finally calling in that favor. I need the absolute best criminal defense lawyer you can find me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Exposition dump chapter, whooooo! Writing Fujiko is way too much fun.
> 
> 1947 Cheval Blanc St. Emilion is not actually priceless, but is around $150,000 a bottle as of right now.
> 
> I still have my forensic entomology report to write, and everything I own is in boxes, but other than that, I'm DONE! Caught up on calculus homework, organic chem lab report is done, wildlife survey and tagging is done, midterms are over, conference is going better than I expected, I'm done presenting my research so I get to drink heavily and enjoy the rest of it, one of my favorite labmates is doing his PhD only a few miles down the road from the conference so I get to catch up with him, Boyfriend and I are fully moved in, life is, for the moment, past the climax of the episode and hitting the denouement! Finals chaos will probably hit soon, so I can't guarantee when the next chapter will be up, but the current break in the bedlam is worth celebrating!
> 
> Also, as a public service announcement, don't ever try to out-drink zebrafish researchers, kids. We had a mouse model researcher try, and the poor guy is still passed out as I'm writing this, I'm keeping an eye on him. Zebrafish model researchers party HARD.

**Author's Note:**

> This...was not what I set out to write. I started writing a nice heist fic with Lupin and Jigen and Fujiko, and I shouldn't have been writing that either, I should've been working on my research conference presentation. Especially after swearing up and down that I didn't have time to do a multi-chapter fic. But then the thought occurred to me, and it refused to stay unwritten, so here we are. There are at least half a dozen stories on here about, 'Lupin gets into trouble and Zenigata has to bail him out,' including one I wrote. It's a fun trope. But then I started wondering what would happen if Zenigata was in trouble, serious trouble, and Lupin and the gang had to help him instead. And thus we have this. Someday I'll post something that features more than just Jigen and Zenigata...


End file.
